


Nothing Worse than a Friendly Target

by MagdaTheMagpie



Series: Marvel & Magic [17]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 19:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16352936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagdaTheMagpie/pseuds/MagdaTheMagpie
Summary: Bucky is confused, Steve is desperate, Luna is a good friend and Sam is still just tagging along.





	Nothing Worse than a Friendly Target

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Marvelously Magical Bingo 2018!  
> Square N5: “A friend is someone who gives you total freedom to be yourself.” -Jim Morrison

“Bucky? Who the hell is Bucky?”

That was the first time the asset felt anything other than purpose and determination, but he couldn't identify quite what it was. He was… confused. Which is when he made the terrible division to tell his handlers about his confusion. He never asked questions. He didn't need to, so he wasn't quite sure what prompted him to ask them who the man on the bridge was.

“You met him earlier this week on another assignment.”

A lie. Not because he remembered. He never did. But he knew when people lied. They all had tells, even this man. The asset shook his head. Maybe the other man hadn't understood.

“But I  _ knew _ him.”

And the man on the bridge knew him in return. Bucky… could he be Bucky?

“Prep him.”

The asset clenched his jaw. He would never know. He wouldn't even remember. Maybe it was for the best. All this confusion created a turmoil within himself he couldn't control nor sooth. He forced his body to relax and bit into the mouthguard, waiting for the pain to take him away.

 

His target was familiar, and too stubborn to die. Had he failed eliminating this target before? He had shot him in the stomach, for fuck’s sake! By all accounts, he should be writhing in pain on the floor and bleeding out, but here he was again, coming to finish him off while he was pinned down like a fly. He expected the pain from his target's next blow but it didn't come. Instead, he was helping him out from under the heavy piece of metal while they were having the most ridiculous argument. He tried to hit his target out of sheer annoyance, but he merely avoided his weakened attacks and never retaliated. 

“You're my friend!” the blond insisted. 

His voice cracked with despair, his eyes held so much emotion, longing…

“You're my  _ mission _ !”

Friend? What was a friend? Why would  _ he _ , of all people, have one? He was a weapon. He didn't  _ need _ friends, and he didn't even realize he was punching the target into a bloody pulp until he spoke again.

“Then finish it.”

He was just going to… accept it. Willingly die at his hands? Why? No one wanted to die. Never. They ran and hid. They screamed, and cried, and begged. His metal fist hovered in the air.

“Cause I'm with you till the end of the line.”

At those words, pain blossomed in his head, more intense than the wipe, more world-altering that the triggers, his mind was suddenly assaulted by images, sounds and emotions, all linked to this man under him.

Memories.

He  _ knew _ him. And not from a mission. He was… had been different. Bucky? But he didn't have time to dwell on it, to question the target, to decide what he wanted to do with this knowledge, that the glass floor of the helicarrier suddenly gave way beneath them. His metal arm reflexively made a grab for something to hold on to as he watched, still in a state of shock and utter confusion, as the blond soldier,  _ Steve _ , fell to the murky waters below. The tiny white splash he left behind goaded him into action. It couldn't end like this, with barely a ripple, when the whole world around him was crashing down, figuratively as well as literally.

The asset let go and plunged after Steve.

 

Life on the run wasn't easy, even less so when you were avoiding both the good and the bad guys, but it was still a sight better than being a Hydra puppet without the slightest notion of free-will, like choosing to drink a large cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows on this bench every evening to watch the sun set, like choosing to bring a second cup of the same drink for the woman who watched the sun set on this very bench every evening with him. 

He had been wary of her at first, the timing too coincidental, but she was so strange and dotty, the possibility she was a spy was close to nil. Not to mention her flowery frills and vegetable jewelry. No, Luna Lovegood was no spy.

So they watched the sun together, and sipped their hot drinks in companionable silence. Sometimes she talked and told him wild tales about her life. He wasn't sure he believed her, but he supposed dragons and fairies weren't all that much of a stretch after aliens and gods. His tongue burned to  ask the only question that had plagued his mind in the last few weeks, and he knew, now, in her roundabout wisdom, that she would have an answer for him, even if he wasn't guaranteed to understand it.

“How do I know if someone is a friend?”

Luna slowly turned her head towards him, her large blue eyes boring into him as if she could see his very soul, which was reassuring, in a way, since it meant he probably still had one.

“I'm your friend, James.”

He hadn't been able to introduce himself as Bucky. The prospect had been both frightening and unsettling. Bucky had been a swell guy, brave, generous and a bit of a cad. Today, none of those applied to him. Bucky was a good guy and Steve's friend, while he was a cowardly nobody… but Luna's friend, apparently. 

“Why?”

“Because you're always there to greet me with a hello and a hot cocoa, you listen to me even if you look like you don't believe me most of the time and you don't even call me out on it. You just… accept me as I am. Not a lot of people can do that.”

He mulled over her words. So basically, you just made friends by being decent and accepting them for who they were. Easy, even for him. 

“I'm your friend,” he agreed.

Could Steve be his friend? Would he accept him for who he was now? Not the Winter Soldier, but not Bucky either. Someone new, someone in-between. Doubts ate away at his hope. Steve was looking for Bucky, his long lost friend. James had visited the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes lest he be recognized as WW2 hero or the Hydra terrorist, and he had seen how close his former self and Steve had been, which confirmed the few memories he had. How would Steve react when all he found was  _ him _ instead of his Bucky? Disappointed? Angry? In any case, James couldn't imagine their meeting up ending well.

“What if… I hurt a friend? What if I changed so much I'm not who I used to be? Are they still my friend?”

Luna hummed as she seemed to be looking at the bottom of her disposable cup for answers.

“You won't know until you give them a chance to know the new you, will you? And if you hurt them, I find an apology always goes a long way.”

Why did she always make things seem so easy?  Of course, she didn't know the full story, he couldn't place such a burden on her tiny shoulders, but maybe… he nodded, his decision made.

“Luna, I won't be coming back.”

She smiled as if she knew what he was about to do.

“Maybe we'll meet again, James. Good luck with your friend.”

 

Sam startle at the quick, loud knock on the door. He'd never heard a knock be so threatening before so he felt completely justified in taking out his gun to go investigate who was at their door. Nobody knew they were in this shitty hotel room save the Black Widow and he knew by now she didn't bother with such mundane things as knocking at people’s door.

He listened but couldn't hear anyone on the other side and he wasn't suicidal enough to look through the door's peephole, not  while hunting for the Winter Soldier. That was the best way to get a bullet in his head. For lack of a better option, he yanked the door open. 

Relief flooded him at the absence of any assassin and he was glad he hadn't barged into Steve's shower time because he'd been spooked by loud knocking. He was still confused by the box of chocolates with a red bow on top, but it was hardly threatening unless they were poisoned.

“What's up?” Steve asked, now wearing pajamas with little Ironmen zooming about.

He dearly hoped those had been a joke gift and not something he had willingly chosen to buy. Sam jerked his head down at the box of chocolates. 

“Did you order chocolates?”

Steve frowned at the small package on the floor and shook his head before retrieving it. Finding a card tucked under the bow, he turned it around to read it, his face morphing so fast from confusion to shock to joy that it gave him whiplash.

“Who is it from?” Sam asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Bucky!”

There it was.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Look! It's his writing!”

Sam wouldn't know about that, but sure enough, scribbled on the simple white card, an even simpler word stood out:

 

_ Sorry. _

_ J.B.B. _

  
  



End file.
